


Baby, Why Don't You Just Meet Me in the Middle?

by liroa15



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 00:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17254592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liroa15/pseuds/liroa15
Summary: Of all the problems Connor McDavid thought he might encounter at the Draft, a hotel room with only one bed was not one of them.





	Baby, Why Don't You Just Meet Me in the Middle?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somehowunbroken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/gifts).



Connor stops in the doorway with his Draft Day suit bag slung over his shoulder and just stares. Dylan runs into him and swears. “What the fuck, Davo?” Dylan demands, his body pressed up against the length of Connor’s back.

“There’s only one bed,” Connor says, pointing in the general direction of the one king bed in the middle of the room. “You’d think the NHL would be able to afford a room with two beds,” he mumbles after another second because _seriously_. He’s barely keeping it together as it is; the last thing he needs is to ruin his friendship with Dylan because he caught feelings he couldn’t hide anymore. 

Dylan stares. His mouth open and closes a couple of times but no sound comes out.

They’re both still standing in the doorway. 

“This has to be a mistake,” Connor says, his voice faint. “I’ll just call down to the desk and see if they can find another room.”

“Yeah,” Dylan agrees, giving Connor a gentle shove so that he actually steps into the room. 

It’s a nice hotel room. It’s got its own living room area with a sofa and a TV and what Connor can see of the bathroom, it looks bigger than a lot of the hotel rooms that he’s stayed in on the road in Junior. 

Normally, Connor would be ecstatic to have a room as nice as this.

“Nothing but the best for McJesus,” Dylan teases, throwing his bag on the bed and then flopping down beside it. Connor’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin now visible between the waistband of Dylan’s pants and his shirt for a moment before forcing himself to look away, cheeks heating.

“I’m gonna call the desk,” Connor says, moving toward the hotel room phone with purpose.

“Mhmmm,” Dylan agrees without moving. “This bed is like a cloud, Davo.”

Connor doesn’t bother replying because he’s dialing down to the front desk.

It turns out that no, they don’t have another room available. Everything’s been completely booked for weeks, between all the players in town for the Draft, their families, the teams’ executives, and all the fans in town just to watch the whole dog-and-pony show.

“There’s nothing,” Connor reports miserably, his eyes again straying to that bared patch of skin. 

Dylan doesn’t even bother opening his eyes. “Well, I’m sure as fuck not sleeping on the floor when this bed is right here, and I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to make Hockey Jesus sleep on the floor. It’s a big bed, Davo,” he says. “I’m pretty sure we’ll both fit.”

“Yeah,” Connor agrees, sitting down on the edge of the bed with about six inches of space between them. “I bet Eichs doesn’t have this problem,” he mutters resentfully.

Dylan laughs at that. “But Eichs isn’t as hot as you are, Davo,” he says with a grin. 

Connor can feel the blush rising up his neck at that. “Oh fuck off, Dyls,” he says, shoving at Dylan’s shoulder lightly. Dylan shoves back, and they end up wrestling on the bed until Connor pins Dylan down with both hands above his head.

“Give in,” Connor demands.

“Never,” Dylan replies, thrashing in his grip. 

Connor leans back enough so that pretty much all his weight is resting on Dylan’s hips. Dylan stills unnaturally quickly and practically shouts, “I give, I give, Davo. Let me up.”

Connor lets Dylan up with a grin. “You should know better than to try and beat me, Dyls,” he gloats. “It’s never gonna happen.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dylan grumbles. “I’m gonna go and get ready for dinner tonight.”

Which is a little fucking weird since they still have like an hour and a half before dinner, but Connor lets it go. Dylan’s probably just worried about the Draft. 

Connor unpacks his stuff, which mostly consists of hanging his Draft day suit up, and then he hangs Dylan’s up for good measure. 

Dylan eventually emerges from the bathroom. Connor grabs a quick shower of his own because Florida is humid as fuck, and he worked up quite a sweat wrestling with Dylan. 

Dinner with both their families goes well and then Connor and Dylan retire to their room and try not to think too much about what tomorrow means for them, mostly by distracting themselves with pay-per-view movies and room service.

“We should probably go to bed,” Connor says after they finish their second movie and like half a chocolate cake that isn’t in either of their diet plans.

“Yeah,” Dylan agrees. They both stare at the bed for a moment.

“You want the left side?” Dylan asks after a moment. 

“Sure,” Connor agrees, like it’s going to make much of a difference what side of the bed he climbs in on. He’s anticipating a long, miserable night keeping himself from reach out for Dylan.

He keeps his sweats on, which is not how he usually sleeps. Dylan does the same, and Connor knows for a fact that Dylan usually sleeps naked. 

“See you in the morning, bud,” Dylan mumbles, turning off his light. Connor mumbles something that sounds like _night_ and stares up at the ceiling, keeping his arms at his side.

He’s pretty sure he’s not going to sleep at all, but the next thing he knows, he’s waking up to Dylan’s annoying ass alarm, and there’s a warm body pressed up against his right side. 

“Ugh, Dyls,” Connor mumbles before his brain really boots up. “Turn it off.”

“Mmmpf,” Dylan grumbles in response, his face buried in Connor’s collarbone. That wakes Connor up really quick.

“Dyls,” he hisses.

“What?” Dylan returns sleepily, looking up at Connor, his gaze still soft with sleep. “This is a good dream, Davo,” he mumbles. “Don’t ruin it.”

“It’s not a dream, Dyls,” Connor says, feeling an almost unbearable fondness for Dylan growing in his chest. “It’s me and I’m real.”

It takes Dylan a moment for Connor’s words to sink in, but when it does, Dylan sits bolt upright, an absolutely miserable look on his face.

“Hey,” Connor says, and then again, “Hey, Dyls,” when Dylan won’t meet his eyes. “It’s okay.”

“Just don’t…” Dylan begins. “I’ve worked so hard on not making it weird, and I fucked it up just as I was supposed to be crossing the finish line.”

“Hey, Dyls,” Connor says, and he can’t help the smile he can feel creeping across his face.

“What, Davo?” Dylan demands, staring at the hotel blanket. 

“I’ve gotta tell you something,” Connor says, and then takes a deep, fortifying breath. “I really like you.”

“I really like you too,” Dylan parrots back.

“No, I _really_ like you,” Connor tries again. 

“I _really_ like you too,” Dylan says.

“I want you to be my boyfriend,” Connor bursts out because he doesn’t know what else to say to make Dylan understand. 

“I want… oh,” Dylan trails off. 

“Yeah,” Connor agrees, looking down at the blanket. 

“Hey, Davo,” Dylan says after a second.

“Yeah?” Connor looks up, meets Dylan’s eyes, and tries not to hope too much.

“I want you to be my boyfriend too,” Dylan says. “So come here and kiss me.”

Connor’s only too happy to do that. And if they’re late meeting their families for breakfast, well, Connor gets to look across the table and see Dylan smiling at him, and it’s definitely worth his mom’s disapproval.

When they’re getting ready to head over to the arena, Connor reaches over to straighten Dylan’s tie, and Dylan grabs his hand and squeezes.

 _We got this_ , Dylan mouths at him, and Connor can’t help but agree. Right now, he’s got everything he’s ever wanted. 

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. So, somehowunbroken, I loved your prompts because I too love being forced to share a bed and mutual pining in fics, so I hope this worked out okay for you.  
> 2\. This takes place after all the pre-Draft activities but before the actual Draft in 2015. I’m well-aware the NHL would never actually allow this to happen, but go with me.  
> 3\. Title is the from the song “The Middle” Zedd, Maren Morris, and Grey.


End file.
